


A Matter of Clan

by Scourge of Nemo (Disguise_of_Carnivorism)



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Awkward Sex, Established Relationship, First Time, M/M, Mutual Masturbation, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-18
Updated: 2021-02-18
Packaged: 2021-03-13 11:36:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29525826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Disguise_of_Carnivorism/pseuds/Scourge%20of%20Nemo
Summary: Din Djarin and Luke Skywalker are Clan, now. Luke's still figuring out what exactly that means.
Relationships: Din Djarin/Luke Skywalker
Comments: 12
Kudos: 304





	A Matter of Clan

It’s Han’s fault, when you get down to it. Han puts the idea in Luke's head.

They’re all slumped and laughing at the banquet table in the temple kitchen on Yavin IV — Han, Leia, their disastrously behaved toddler Ben, then Din, his much better-behaved adopted son Grogu, and Luke. They’ve pushed their plates out from in front of them, finished with the proper feast that Threepio had prepared.

Luke’s head buzzes, warm and content. He’s wrapped in the long-familiar comfort of Leia’s presence in the Force, and her son’s sharp spikes of will — reliable, at least, if not pleasant — and Grogu’s gentler mischief and clever prodding. As usual, he feels little from Din, and he’s never quite sure if it’s the beskar or the man’s general calm personality or just that he’s like a black hole when it comes to Force-sensitivity. But the Mandalorian’s leaning on his arm, head tilted — happily? — in the direction of his child. 

The thought of clan makes Luke absentmindedly the fresh mudhorn symbol where it lies under his black robes, inked into his right shoulder, and instantly regrets it — the tattoo is still tender to the touch. Much like this whole... Din _thing_ , really. 

For all that they’re clan now, Luke’s not totally sure what exactly that means. They shared some vows that he didn’t totally understand, and clasped hands. Now Din takes his helmet off more often, sometimes, when brings fresh supplies as a pretense for visiting Grogu, and that’s really been the only change.

Still, even with that uncertainty, Luke’s not sure he’s ever felt this kind of _peace_. Even on Tattooine, moments of calm were more just _boredom_ , feeling trapped and frustrated in the force of a war that decided his life for him lightyears away. Here at the temple, he’s _building something_ with the people he loves around him. 

And then Han has to ruin it all by asking Din about _sex_. 

“So, do you do it with the helmet off or on?” Han asks. Din absolutely freezes in place. 

“Han!” Leia swats her husband, laughing.

“Look, I’ve always wondered, ever since I met Fett —” 

Leia groans. “Ugh, not Fett again.” 

“We were _nemeses_. He hunted me for years!” 

“Which is why you want to know if another Mandalorian has sex with the helmet on. Because of your _rivalry_ with Boba Fett,” Leia hums, rolling her eyes. 

For a moment, Luke thinks the argument has derailed Han’s focus from Din. But, no. Han levels his crooked grin on the Mandalorian. 

“So? Which is it?” 

Din _must_ be drunk, because after a long silence — during which Luke _hopes_ that Han is fearing for his life, because the man deserves _some_ kind of consequence for this — Din just says, “On.” 

Luke’s brain grinds to a halt. Does that mean Din _has sex_? 

“Oh ho!” Han exclaims, as if he’s won a bet or something. “I’m honestly surprised you’re into that sort of thing.”

A second ago, Luke was planning on stopping Han’s invasive line of questioning, but now he is just… _so curious_. Din’s T-visor looks at Han dead on. 

"Haven't done it, much,” Din says shortly. 

_Much_. Luke mulls over the implications of that word. He feigns disinterest, picking at his food. There’s a leftover fruit of unknown origins, something Leia brought with her on the Falcon, and really, it _is_ quite fascinating. 

"You're seriously telling me nobody ever got, uh, into —" Han gestures up and down Din’s body, as if it’s self-explanatory “— this.” 

Leia is just rolling her eyes and covering Ben’s ears, as he’s smooshing a fruit to pieces with his eating utensils. “Don’t listen to daddy, honey,” she mutters. 

"No," Din says again. “There’s been interest.”

 _Whose_ interest? Is he referencing all the weirdos in port who just want to have it on with an armored-up Mandalorian? Or is there someone _Din_ has been interested in? Has there been _mutual_ interest? The passive voice here is killing Luke. 

And then Din says, “But we keep those things to Clan.” 

_Luke_ is clan. Luke is _clan_. The memory of the tattoo, Din’s careful hands on his bare skin, tracing the mudhorn’s form, flashes through him like wildfire. 

Does that mean he might be interested in having sex _with Luke_? 

For the rest of the dinner, Luke can’t stop thinking about it. 

Here’s the thing: He’s a simple guy, at the heart of things. Sure, he’s a Jedi now, he’s the sole heir to a dead order, he’s pseudo-father to dozens of children, and that all makes things complicated. But his roots, at least, are simple. 

On Tattooine, you head to a cantina, or you bump into a handsome guy down on the race tracks. They’re cute, you’re cute, you give each other The Nod and The Eyes and you exchange contact info and things go from there. And the Rebel Alliance, despite all its military structures, is more of the same. Lots of people who want to blow off steam, often at the same time, all trapped in the same place. Okay, yes, lube is pretty expensive on Tattooine — desert planet, and all — and you don’t get much time alone on the run from a giant military operation, so there have been some limitations. But for the most part? Sex has been simple, for Luke. 

Din is… not a simple guy. 

Or, at least, that’s what Luke has assumed. 

But maybe, now that they’re clan… things _are_ simple? 

“So,” Luke says later, slipping into Din’s room after Din’s already stripped down to his soft night-clothes. “Helmet on, huh?”

Din groans. “I had to say _something_ or he was never going to let up.” 

“You know him… oddly well,” Luke admits, trying not to sound disappointed at Din’s seeming disinterest in continuing the conversation. 

“Do you think he and Fett —” 

Luke cuts him off: “No way. I’m not thinking about it.” 

Luke stands, now feeling somewhat awkward, opposite Din, who’s also standing as if he’s at a bit of a loss.

Luke decides to go for it.

“What if I said I wanted to have sex?” Luke asks.

“Well, I’d probably say yes,” Din says. 

“ _Probably_?” There might be a bit of a squeak in Luke’s voice.

“There are… you know…” Din waves his hand vaguely, “logistics.” 

“Like?” Luke asks softly, now emboldened, walking toward Din. He settles his hands on Din’s elbows, gently, not bracketing him in. Just a touch. _Interest_. 

Din clears his throat. “You know… since we’re Clan… I wouldn’t have to keep the helmet on.” 

Luke hums. 

“But I haven't really... done that before. That okay with you?” There’s a note of hesitance in his voice, like Luke’s going to say no to _anything_ that Din suggests. 

Luke just nods. He doesn’t totally understand what the helmet means to Din, but since Din came to Yavin IV, he’s taken it off more and more frequently. But he always seems ill at ease, at a loss, without it — even newly unburdened by Luke’s newfound status as clan.

He starts to turn to go, because this _must_ be the end of it, right? They’re going to have this awkward, stilted conversation, and then, one night after one of them gets up their courage, someone will bring it up again, and there will probably be another embarrassing conversation — and —

But Din’s fingers twitch. And then his arms are slipping from Luke’s light grasp, and he’s lifting the helmet off, and his eyes are — his eyes are wide, and _terrified_. 

“Oh,” Luke says, his heart breaking at the expression on Din’s face, his feet already moving him backward, “oh, really, you don’t — we don’t —” 

But Din is surging forward, and Din’s hands are warm and calloused and strong on his face, tilting his jaw upwards, and Din’s breath puffs softly against his lips, and then — they’re kissing. 

Luke didn’t know kissing is a thing that Din _does_. For a moment he’s totally overwhelmed in the sensations — the warm wetness of it, soft lips moving against his, the scratch of scruff against his smooth face, the cautious press of Din’s body. And then their noses bump, and everything is _too_ wet and — 

“Whoa there,” Luke says, panting. “Let’s just — let’s —” 

Din is herding him backward, taking one step after another toward the bed, and Luke goes willingly. 

“What do you —” Din asks.

“Do you want to fuck me?” Luke interrupts.

“Okay,” Din says, and Luke's... not totally sure that he believes him.

Din’s eyes are still wide, his pupils blown out. A flush has built in his cheeks. Luke’s never _seen_ that before, never caught any hint of that bashfulness except in the hints of Din’s posture and his voice. But there it is, right in front of him. 

Luke scrambles for the lube in his bedside table, before he remembers that they’re in _Din’s_ room, not his. His chest feels hot, and tight, and bubbling. 

“Lube?” Luke tries.

“Right,” and Din’s turning around and digging through the nightstand. It’s… far back there, either well-hidden or not very often-used, Luke notes. 

“Uh…” Din holds the bottle of lube in front of him, staring as if he doesn’t recognize it. 

“You could finger me?” Luke offers, already starting to take off his clothes. 

“Yes,” Din says, “right, I’ll just,” and then they’re both shedding their night clothes, shirts and pants and underwear flying to the floor. 

Luke lays back against the pillow, pulling his legs up. Din, now between his legs, freezes. His eyes shoot up to Luke’s. 

Luke grabs the lube from Din’s slack fingers, wets two fingers, and starts working himself open with one. “Yeah?” Luke whispers breathlessly. 

Din’s staring, mouth fallen open, brows tightened in concentration, as if he’s memorizing every angle, every motion. Luke feels a rush of heat, just watching Din watch him like this. He tries to wave the lube in Din’s face to hand off, and Din fumbles for it.

And then Din’s hand is pulling Luke’s own away, and his slick, blunt fingers are pressing up and into him. Luke can’t stop the moan that falls out of him. 

“Oh, uh, maybe start with — one,” Luke says breathlessly, and Din complies. 

His touch is gentle, hesitant. Din bites his lip in concentration; his eyes meet Luke’s, watching every twitch, every reaction. Din’s cock is hard, seeping precum, but he doesn’t touch himself, with his spare hand, just traces a path along the crease of Luke’s leg, oh-so-gentle. 

“But you can — _oh_ —” Luke gasps, and his head drops back and eyes flutter shut, as Din makes a more confident stroke inwards. 

“You’re so —” Din starts, but he bites his lip again, gasping. 

“Try a — try a second,” Luke says, after a while, “and more lube,” and Din does. 

But then he starts — _scissoring_ with the second finger, and that is — “whoa, uh, haha,” Luke says, “more like —” he makes a gesture, fingers pressed tight together, crooked. 

And then Din finds just the right spot, and his fingers thrust together _just_ so, and a moan startles out of Luke, and his cock goes from mildly interested to actively hard. Soon Din is working a third finger into him, and Luke is rocking back on his hand. 

“You could — probably fuck me now,” Luke says, “if you wanted.”

“I don’t —” Din says, looking slightly panicked, slipping his hand from Luke. The quick move makes him groan. 

“Or we could jack each other off,” Luke suggests, and the stress fades from Din’s face. Din nods. Luke rises to his knees, feeling deliciously slick and stretched out, and crowds into Din’s personal space. 

“Hey,” he says, smiling softly. They’re almost the same height like this, both kneeling on the bed. 

“Hey,” Din returns, looking a bit dazed. His lips are slick with spit, plush from where he’s been biting them; his dark hair is disheveled, little curls sticky to his temples. 

“You good?”

Din just nods, mouth slack. 

Luke grabs him by the back of the neck with his clean hand and kisses him again, working his other hand between them. He slicks up both their cocks, and Din gasps into Luke’s mouth. 

“Like that?” Luke asks, his lips moving against Din’s. 

Din nods in response, gasping into Luke’s mouth. And then Luke pushes him back gently, takes them both tumbling back onto the bed. Din’s hands grab Luke’s hips reflexively, and then they’re both rutting into each other, pressed almost stomach-to-stomach as Luke wraps his hands around their cocks and braces himself to look down at Din. 

The noise Din makes is ungodly, somewhere between a groan and a gasp and a screech. 

“Come on,” Luke says, “whatever you want, love.” 

Din _trembles_ , the muscles in his legs tight, his stomach flexing, and he’s graceful and powerful and _beautiful_ and so easily undone as his fingers fall from Luke’s hips to grasp at the sheets beneath them. He gives a few quick thrusts, and then the _noise_ he lets out — he’s coming all over their stomachs, gasping and twitching as if he’s never experienced anything quite like it.

Then Luke’s coming too, breathing hard. Luke presses his lips to Din’s, more of a reassurance than a proper kiss, and rests their foreheads together. He drops his weight from his arm to settle gently on top of Din, pressing his ears to Din’s chest.

Din’s heartbeat still races; he breathes shallowly, still catching his breath. His fingers trace the edges of Luke’s still-fresh mudhorn tattoo, and Luke squeezes him tight.

“So,” Luke can't stop himself from saying, “how was your first time with the helmet off?”

Din just swats him halfheartedly, a smile playing at his lips. Then suddenly they're both laughing, and everything feels bright.


End file.
